So, Good Call
by Mrs Dionysius O'Gall
Summary: Three weeks into his stint at the Renaissance Faire, Luke receives a phone call from Lorelai. Takes place after 5.01, 'Say Goodbye to Daisy Miller.' Written in response to a little challenge at TWoP.


It takes three weeks before they mention the kiss. Or rather, the two kisses.

Two kisses so memorable that they fill most of their waking moments. Two kisses so memorable that they are cherished and analyzed and replayed. Two kisses so memorable, that if one of them had been a frog, there would have been some seriously impressive consequences. Two kisses discussed over the phone three weeks before.

And now, for three weeks, neither Luke nor Lorelai mentions the kisses.

Two kisses so memorable that they spawn a host of fantasies. For both of them.

For three weeks, they talk on the phone each night. Every night, long into the night, they talk about the town, the Faire, the Inn…everything…anything…except about what happened the night Lorelai's beloved inn opened.

If an outside observer had witnessed the moment when Luke asked Lorelai to 'just stand still', and then embraced and kissed her, that person would surely rub their eyes and clean out their ears in disbelief, listening to their ensuing conversations. That outside observer would think there was nothing but a deep friendship there.

But that outside observer would be wrong.

In the past, before the kisses, they saw each other almost every day. Phone calls were rare. After all, their lives collided almost daily in the diner, intersected over a plate of pancakes, a cup of coffee. When there was a phone call, each was startled to receive the other's rare phone call.

It therefore surprises both of them how quickly they adapt to their new daily routine. Luke calls Lorelai every night, and sometimes during the day. Just because.

Just because he is in Maine and she is back home. Just because they'd kissed.

She always knows it is Luke the moment she hears the trill of her ringing phone. No matter how many calls she receives during the day, she just knows.

Three weeks.

Three weeks, during which their lips still feel branded by the imprint of the other's. Three weeks, during which the memory of her arms around him, and his arms around her, the way he smelled, the way she smelled, the up-close sound of each other's breathing…all those memories growing, rather than fading.

His calls fill a void. The diner is an empty shell without him. Nothing there tastes the same. She doesn't know yet that the hunger she feels, the thirst that stalks her, is not just for the food and coffee at the diner.

His calls are never cute or coy. No "Hi. Remember me?" Just "Hi" or "Hey" or "Lorelai?"

As she goes about her evening, three weeks after that kiss, she looks in the mirror. She looks like shit. She wonders if he's in the same situation. She hates to be the only one suffering. Without him, she loses sleep every night, for she now has more thoughts to occupy her mind.

Finally, she can't stand it any more. She is filled to the brim with memories. So on the twenty-second night, she calls and asks, "Luke? You there?"

"Lorelai? Is everything okay? Are you okay?"

Luke is concerned. Her call is a deviation from the norm, since he usually calls her. Luke is not a friend of change, and he is living a life of change at the moment. The Ren Faire, and the demands of Liz and TJ are unpredictable, and often it isn't until late (for him) that he is able to whisper confidences to Lorelai from his bunk in his sister's RV.

As always, Lorelai is touched by his concern. Since the kisses, certain things seem much more important to him. Her welfare. Rory's welfare.

"Uh, I'm OK. I just...look, it's nothing. I'll let you get back to...whatever it is that you were doing. How are Liz and TJ doing?"

"Lorelai." His voice, she thinks, like his lips, is soft, yet insistent. "Is something wrong? You sound different."

Funny how he is always able to discern her moods.

Her voice, its confidence belying a sense of neediness she doesn't want to admit, betrays her cool, confident demeanor by tentatively admitting: "It's just that…Luke, it's just that…I…I miss you. Really miss you."

He groans. "I'm sorry…"

"That I miss you?"

"No, no. I…kind of like that," he responds. "I'm sorry I've had to interrupt our…"

''…getting to know one another?" Lorelai laughingly supplies.

"Yeah."

She swallows once, twice, then a third time.

He senses her vulnerability, and tries to send all the affection he can over the line…

…which she senses and receives, bolstering her confidence.

Rapid-fire, as if she has to get it out now, or else never say it, she admits, "Luke, I think about you when I'm not talking to you."

It startles Luke that with that one admission, he finally learns the meaning of the words "my heart soared."

"Oh yeah?" His rapidly beating heart keeps him down to two syllables.

"I mean," she adds more slowly, but with a small laugh, "I never thought I'd be that girl."

Nervously, he laughs as well. "What? Like Grog-bowl Annie?"

"Seriously, Luke. The kind of girl who misses you. All the time. And thinks of you. A lot. I've got Luke-brain." Lorelai's voice grows quiet. "Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you sometimes think of what…if Kirk hadn't…and if…"

Her voice, with its hefty dollop of hope, tugs at something deep within him, his groin stirring.

"I miss you too," he roughly admits.

"Do you ever think about what would have happened…" she ventures once more.

He can't answer. Because he is afraid. Afraid of what she'd think if she only knew…

Luke, enjoying the luxury of her not seeing him, smiles to himself. He loves her voice, now so uncharacteristically shy. That shyness thrills him. He'd hoped…that she'd be this way. Soft, vulnerable, needing him, beneath the self-confident veneer.

"Maybe," he ventures in return, "sometimes."

"What?" she protests in mock outrage, "not all the time?"

He's quiet for a second, before clearing his throat. If she only knew…

And before he can stop himself, he says it. "Lorelai. If you only knew…"

A few seconds of silence stretch into tens of seconds.

"I'll tell you mine if you'll tell me yours…" she teases.

"Your what?"

"What I think about…when I think about…you," she confesses. "You know…"

There is more stirring beneath the beltline.

He doesn't know why he says it; it just comes out. "Deal. I'm in."

Each can barely hear the other breathing.

Finally, she breaks the silence. "I'd better move this along."

"So…"

"So, I umm, I think I might have, could have maybe invited you up to my room."

Luke reacts with more silence.

Lorelai panics. Maybe he isn't thinking along the same lines as she is.

With trepidation, Lorelai asks, "What about you?"

Luke can't. He just can't say out loud what he's been thinking each night since leaving Stars Hollow. She is too special to him. He can't cheapen what they could have. He senses that she is more than a friend. That she is that special kind of woman…that you don't discuss with the guys in the batting cage…

'Ah,' he thinks. How many times since that night has he closed his eyes for a moment, and remembered the flush on her cheeks, and the shortness of her breath, and the unfathomable look of what he dared hope was desire--for him--in her eyes? In his private world, he continues to watch her as she shyly looks down and then up. And he is the luckiest man in the Federation, for she then takes his hands, and leads him up to her room.

And like a puppy, he follows her.

Once inside her room, she doesn't say a word. Which is weird, because he'd always imagined that she'd be her annoying but endearingly chatty self. She reaches up, and places her hands softly on his face, and then kisses him so softly, so femininely, and then he becomes impatient, and opens her mouth with his tongue.

And she melts into him. Opens up to him. Molds her body to his. And he goes crazy with kissing her neck, her face, her hair and running his hands all over her body. Because who knows if she'll ever let him do it, do this, again.

Eventually his hands find themselves on her hips. And he runs them down the sides of her thighs. In his fantasy, she is very impatient and before he knows it, discards her clothing, down to her panties and bra. A trail of 'opening night at the Inn' clothing litters the floor of her room.

His fantasy Lorelai takes a step back and makes some sort of Lorelai quip, daring him to take the next step. He slips his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pulls them down to her ankles, and tries to take his time, but does not want to. And she gets impatient and kicks them away. And he marvels at her impatience, that it's for him.

He sinks to his knees and buries his face against the soft swell of her tummy, while really wanting to bury his face elsewhere. His arms wrap around her, caressing her lower back and her bottom.

And now she actually starts shaking.

Dear God.  
Her hand takes his. (Left or right? Undecided.) And her hand places his hand right where she wants it and where he needs it to be. Touching her, Luke finds out just how much she wants this to happen.

Luke freezes, for just a second, because the realization that she has it bad for him actually stuns him. His breath then quickens dramatically, but his fingers now move on their own in concert with hers.

"Show me," he whispers, "how to touch you."

'God, I am such an idiot,' he thinks. 'Way to go…let her think that you don't know how to really touch a woman…'

She takes his hand, and presses one finger downward. He almost jumps back, because she is that hot. Literally, exuding heat, making his entire being ache to be within her.

Meanwhile, she continues her slow seduction of herself by proxy, urging him to move within and about.

And he looks upward, at first reluctantly, to see that her face and chest are softly flushed. He wants to worship, but his body betrays that desire.

With his other hand, he fumbles awkwardly with his belt, trying to undo it, so he can take care of the now raging needs he is feeling. Funny how he has led a monastic existence for much of his adult life, yet now after just two kisses, is succumbing to these needs. Fumbling, fumbling, he finally gets the belt unclasped, and with a yank, flings it across the room.

Her hands now come to his front and he places his hands over hers, guiding her as she unzips his fly, brushing her hand over the front of him as she frees him from the confines of his jeans.

In a frenzy, he pulls down his jeans and his boxers, and unceremoniously kicks them aside. She again takes her hand and guides his over his erection. Rhythmically, she helps him pleasure himself.

He groans. Loudly. And is not embarrassed. Because it's Lorelai, and he feels safe with her.

"Oh Luke," her voice softly moans, "oh Luke…"

Luke's eyes fly open.

And Luke realizes that he hasn't just been imagining things; he's said every word aloud, mimicked every motion, and god, he hopes Liz and TJ haven't overheard him.

"Lorelai…" he ventures, "did I just…"

"Have phone sex with me?" she giggles.

"Aw, jeez," he replies, then after a moment, curiosity getting the better of him, adds "Did you?"

"Yes." Her affirmation is swift and confident. Of course, being Lorelai, she also giggles right after.

"Jeez," he says once more.

"Oh Luke, don't be embarrassed, believe me, if you were here, I'd be…"

"Yes?"

"Well, umm, all over you."

"Really," Luke questions.

"Well mister, I'd hold you to that date first, which I remind you, you are not off the hook for…"

"Lorelai."

"…and this had better be the best first date ever, because you're making me wait a long time here…"

"Lorelai."

This time she stops.

"I told you mine," he reminds her. "Tell me. What happens next?"

She takes a deep breath.

"We would…you…turn me…and walk me over to the window. The view is fantastic from that room," she adds. "You tell me to hold on, and you, you know, from…"

"Behind?" his voice raggedly supplies.

"Yes."

He's never heard Lorelai's voice so breathy before. He thinks that it is the sexiest and most wonderful sound he's ever heard.

"Go on," he begs.

"You can't control yourself," she supplies. "Can't stop, you tell me…and you don't."

Luke imagines the scene she's described. The moonlight coming in through the window with the great view. Lorelai in his hands, he in Lorelai.

Oh god. He hears her panting, actually panting over the phone. 'This can't be happening,' he thinks.

"You can't stop. You don't say anything, because you're Mr. Monosyllabic, but I know. I know what you need. It's what I need."

Luke hears her whimper over the phone. Her whimper prompts his hand to rest on his erection once again. He starts stroking himself, short, strong strokes.

"What are you doing right now?" He finally is bold enough to ask.

No answer.

If only he could see, she thinks. See that my left hand is at my left breast, my fingers under the lace, circling, caressing my nipple, which needs him but must make do for now. And my other hand is busy too, drawing back and forth.

But she can't say it. Can't tell him. Just, "Luke…"

"What?" he whispers.

"I want you," she whispers in return, "wish you were here."

"I will be. Soon."

"Not soon enough for me."

He smiles, then feels himself ready to let go, the pressure within him rising. Think of TJ, think of TJ, think of Taylor, think of anyone. Anyone but Lorelai.

"So…good call." Lorelai senses the call is venturing into uncomfortable territory. "Talk to you tomorrow?"

"Uh." Luke is back to being ultra-monosyllabic.

Lorelai knows him well. "We won't…do this every time we call," she reassures him.

"Oh. OK." He's relieved but disappointed.

"So, three more weeks?" Lorelai asks. "I can hardly wait…"

He wonders how he will ever look her in the eyes after this. But then he remembers that this is Lorelai, and he wants this. Wants everything he's been thinking about to happen, and more.

"I promise I won't jump you when I see you. Though I'll want to. I'll probably totally freak out, so don't think I'm weird."

Luke smiles. She's back to the Lorelai he knows so well.

"Yup, three weeks. Those two are a pain in the ass. That TJ especially. Like today, he actually decided he wanted me to feed him. Feed him! Can you imagine?" 


End file.
